


Glitching

by Subtle_Shenanigans



Series: Dissassociation [1]
Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Anti is a glitch in Jack's personality, Anti is not a demon, Bleeding, Death, Disassociation series, Encoded!Anti, I Tried, I guess???, I'm fairly new to the fandom please be kind, Should I Change The Rating?, Splinter of a personality, Trapped in a video game, Violence, You know what?, actually, ahdksjajssnsj, and can die, but nice pointers are very welcome, but please read it, doesnt follow my theory on Anti really, just a test run, knife, not an actual series but I want the tags to connect to the other, not exactly like SAO though, not exactly split personality, not super graphic death but semi-graphic?, oh dear lorg don't judge me too much please, oopsie daisie, practive piece, sorry A/N is so long, stab wound(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 10:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14055039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtle_Shenanigans/pseuds/Subtle_Shenanigans
Summary: They've been trapped here too long; too close to death, but never to the end.He can hear his friends yelling as they fight; catches Mark's voice in the fray, close by.Then the world slows as the knife enters his side-The world tilts and shudders, uncomprehensibly as he hits asphalt.Then, suddenly, he's pulling it out.And the worldglitches.//////Not a full story, VERY OOC, and not fully what I intended. A practice piece I guess.





	Glitching

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, okay.
> 
> So, first off, I normally don't read _or_ write anything to do with real people. It's their lives, and I don't like to assume or mess with that.
> 
> I am making an exception for a few YouTube fandoms, though I have a good reason.
> 
> I have read Dan and Phil friendship fics, and have considered a test thing of their first video of Undertale, where they're actually in the game.
> 
> The other, is Jacksepticeye. Specifically, his egos, since they're technically fictional characters. (I mean, I'm absolutely sure they all relate to aspects of his actual personality - like Jackieboy man, the superhero, relating to Jack/Sean when he's wanting to save people and be the good guy, 'cause we all know how much of a Cinnamon roll he can be, and Anti, like in the _Party Hard_ series where we see some maniacal glee. I mean, there's a lot more to it than that but I'm not in the mood for writing an essay.)
> 
> So, the only one I really know right now fairly well is Anti, which everyone has their own thoughts and theories on. I personally don't like the base demon/virus one, and rather that he's literally a part of Jack's personality but a strain of the more. . . negative aspects of it. It's hard to explain what I mean, but I have an OC who takes different 'forms' of herself, that are based around concentrations of specific emotions (like one is Anger and Passion of Feirce protectiveness - "red emotions", if you will). That. . . still may not have cleared things up.)
> 
> Anyways, I've always wanted to try my hand at a darker piece, and I've been loving the three "trapped in game" YT fics I've been reading ( _Devil's Deal_ and _Sudden Reality_ here on AO3 that should be in my bookmarks, as well as one on FF that's _really_ good but I can't recall the title of.) So, with that said, this takes place as though Jack and some friends are actually in a game of some sort and Anti takes over/comes out.
> 
> So, uh, I guess here it is. A practice piece using Anti. This won't be a full basis of his personality or powers if I ever write something else like this. Just a practice.
> 
> Also, if you think I should change the rating to M, please let me know.

_Glitching_

* * *

 

 

They've been in here too long.

 

His friends are worn down, he is too, but they're nowhere near the end of this damn game - they're barely three levels in.

 

Three out of ten - but it's the hardest game they've ever played.

 

And those _stupid_ Designers stopped them. _Again_.

 

Jack's pretty effing _pissed_ ( _has been on and off for a while, actually, in between the fear and mind-numbing focus on_ run run run run-)

 

It's but a moment as they're attacked - low on health already, and they haven't had time to up their stats or _anything_ \- and they're pulled into the fray, desperation permeating the air as they all remember that this _isn't **just** a video game_ -

 

They've been in here too long.

 

Always close to death, but never the end.

 

He can hear his friends' shouting wordless battle cries, entering the fray; picks out Mark's voice from the commotion as he's close by, wielding one of the few weapons they have.

 

He doesn't know how long the bat will last.

 

And all Jack has are his fists; not that he's shoddy in a fist-fight, but the dude before him is wielding a _knife_ , wicked curiousity on his face as he forgoes the additional gun.

 

_' "I wonder how you lot will survive; uploaded and dropped in a world where the cards are stacked against you?_

 

_Guess we won't have to wonder long, eh?" '_

 

Jack grits his teeth, imagining the smug bastard's face as he swings for his opponent's nose.

 

But in his moment of remembrance, he forgets the knife.

 

And then the world slows as the knife enters his side-

 

fire flaring and spreading out-

 

Everything tilts and shutters uncomprehensively as he falls, hitting onto the asphalt.

 

There's nothing but pain for a moment.

 

Nothing.

 

Then that feeling of _wrong_ he'd been experiencing on and off throughout this whole thing comes back stronger, obscuring thought and vision and mind-

 

Then.

 

 _Then_.

 

Everything 

 _glitches_.

* * *

 

 

It's not Jack.

 

 _He's_ not Jack.

 

But he's pretty _effing_ angry.

 

He can't see it but he knows he's a corrupted file; his form blurrs and emits static, he moves too fast.

 

And if the other guy's expression is any indication, he's scary as _hell_.

 

Good.

 

Becuase he's going to **_p a y_**.

 

The knife is in his hand (and it feels _right_ ), fingers clawing into the handle as he snarls, because who the effing **hell** did this guy think he is? Stabbing _his_ body like he has _**any**_ right.

 

What did they think they were doing, _any_ of them? What right did they have, _keeping **him** here? Messing with what is **his**?_

 

The knife is lodged in the other man's throat within seconds, jutting straight through to the back, grinding against the spine. He rips it out and the other man makes a choking sound, falling.

 

He knows what this world is, even if he doesn't know who or what he is.

 

He knows these people are real.

 

He knows he just killed someone.

 

. . .

 

He doesn't care.

 

        In fact.

 

A grin splits across his face.

 

He's suddenly on another opponent ( _not his friends, not what's his; he wouldn't hurt what belongs to him_ ) stabbing the knife into the soft flesh of his stomach, ripping through the flesh as he works his way up and re-adjusting his grip as the blood makes it slick. Hot, reeking innards spill out and the man _screams_ as he dies, the man killing him glitching in and out, laughing maniacally.

 

(In his minds it echoes, _it's not wrong not wrong he deserves it, they deserve it, hurt me, hurt them, mustmustmust and wantw **antw a nt** -_)

 

He knows, vaguely, in the fog of his mind, that he'll feel sick and shock and regret once it's over, but the part here - the part in the _now_ \- takes twisted vengeance and _enjoys_ it.

 

There's sudden shouts of ' _oh god_!' and ' _Jack_?!' and ' _there's_ _something_ _wrong_! _Tell the director_ _to_ _check_ _their_ _files_!' ' _Run_!', but he ignores them, hand grasping to grab the collar of another, knife tearing through flesh and nerve roughly, scraping as it hits bone and he throws the body down, springing to get another-

 

He trips over the corpse, not making it that far.

 

(Later - later, there's hands grasping around him as he screams, blood soaking his frame as he thrashes and glitches, fighting to race back to the carnage even though the men have long run off - but he can't fight the voices surrounding him because they belong to what is _his_ , and he growls, then whines, and he stabilizes slowly, so slowly, the glitching calming and beginning to fade as he rushed back into himself.

 

And the hands release him as he falls to the ground, sobbing wretchedly and brokenly because _oh god, he just killed people and, and -_

 

and-

 

the darker part of his mind, like broken strings of code, laughing statically, maniacally, continues to try and surge forth, waiting, angry, eager to tear into flesh and to slaughter again.

 

and he's sure that he'll let it.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *spends maybe 10 or 15 minutes writing this and realizing it freaking sucks*
> 
> AKSHSHSHSHSHSH.
> 
> I'm sorry.


End file.
